According to 80's codpiece-attired Gene Simmons and his heavily-pickled band-mates, God gave rock n roll to you. And put it in the soul of everyone. Which is a sweeping statement when talking about a deity that hasn't given the ability to chew food properly to the entire human race.
And for proof that it’s not an ubiquitous human trait: Robbie Williams.
Some of you may think that using Our Robbie as an example is counter-intuitive. After all, a history of drug-dependence and sexual promiscuity is the basic narrative for the rock n roll lifestyle, right? Robbie probably has a bloodstream toxic enough to require a ‘Hazardous Materials’ sign to be permanently tattooed on his arse cheek, and a penis covered in more exotic bacteria than a dog-carcass left on a Caribbean beach.
But I put this to you: Does ‘rock n roll’ simply imply living as a half-cut idiot with raging Chlamydia?
Of course not.
The fact is that getting smashed and having enough scarring on your genitalia for your groin to resemble the moon’s surface is now par-for-course. It has become part of a uniform proudly worn alongside an ASBO and a guitar bought for thirty-quid from Argos.
And it’s the same thing with all subcultures.
I remember skateboarding back in the 90’s, when the extreme sports scene was making its bruised crawl into the mainstream. We were a tight-knit bunch of music-loving, adrenaline-surfing kids with a genuine desire to discover true individuality through the medium of ‘cool’ and a piece of very expensive plywood with wheels nailed to it. Or, rather, that’s what I liked to tell myself.
More likely is that we were a bunch of little bastards who all wore the same baggy clothes, listened to the same music whether we actually liked it or not and subscribed to whatever new fad the skate-shops in Cardiff told us was the ‘next big thing’.
And it hasn’t changed.
The majority of skaters believe they are ‘sticking it to the man’, when what’s closer to the truth is that they only ever have the balls to stick it to each other in the guise of seeing who can swear loudest, or stick it to some old couple who are complaining that if they get knocked over it’ll mean a new hip each and several months in hospital. Which to me isn’t rock n roll in the slightest. It’s just being a mouthy, ignorant git.
And the same goes for the Rap culture, the Goth culture, any one of the zillion music cultures that spring up each time a ‘clever’ marketing-bod decides that the generic band they are promoting needs to be pioneering something. They make up a new genre like ‘crossover-rap-metal-blues-core-with-xylophones-in-it’ and say that this new band is the first to do it. Cue a million kids wearing small xylophones around their neck for a fortnight and arguing in parks about who was listening to this band ‘before they were famous’. And getting wrecked on cheap cider.
My point is that what most people consider to be rock n roll is just another well-marketed lifestyle that usually includes copious amounts of alcohol, mind-ruining chemicals and bad language. The individuality and ground-breaking ideals have been lost in a cloud of buzzwords, expensive t-shirts with ironic slogans emblazoned on the front and living in the neatly defined boundaries of your peer group.
Subcultures are no more rock n roll than the office culture of pencil skirts, cheap suits and having sex with your married boss.
So, rock n roll can only ever come down to the individual. If you believe in yourself, and never sway from that belief no matter what the consequences, then you have the essence of rock n roll ready to pour from you. You also have to be prepared to flick a middle finger to the pressures of mainstream ‘cool’ when they oppose you, and decide not to be an arsehole when culture demands it. Yes, part of being truly rock n roll nowadays actually comes down to being rather decent. Think about it, being a selfish berk is an obvious part of the money-earning, ladder-climbing, tat-consuming society we live in. Buck the trend and do something unexpectedly good for no other reason than you can.
Or next time you are at a club, thirsty, yet in the mood for conversation and good times that don’t involve losing £100 on copious vomiting and regret, do the rock n roll thing.
Go to the bar and ask for a pot of tea.
Dee.
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